


it's probably gonna take some time, but there are better days to find

by glueskin



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Confessions, Depression and Self Loathing, Eating Disorders, Emphasis on Consent, Implied Past Hasumi Keito/Sakuma Rei, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-09-30 22:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20454488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glueskin/pseuds/glueskin
Summary: with graduation looming ever closer, rei finds himself bedridden in the infirmary. he and madara have a long overdue conversation.





	it's probably gonna take some time, but there are better days to find

**Author's Note:**

> note: rei seems to frequently starve himself of blood in canon, as opposed to ritsu, who regularly slurps whenever he feels like it. this, i feel, contributes heavily to his frequent lethargy and general sickliness on top of his depression, though he makes a joke out of it by acting like an old man. there are descriptions of hunger pain, of dizziness and fatigue from lack of food, and it is outright stated that rei starves himself so please tread carefully when reading! its a work in progress. hes getting better. 
> 
> now, uh...what to say about this...i started writing it some time ago and decided to finish it this past week because. well. its a bit important to me, i guess? i wanted to explore something regarding reis depression and how he seems incapable of asking for things he needs even from people who are happy to give to him because he doesnt want to be a selfish person. i also wanted to write madarei. so i. did.
> 
> i could talk a lot about this piece and why i wrote it, as well as all the things i wanted to touch on regarding reis mental health and his relationships with others (most notable in this fic being - aside from madara - keito and ritsu) but i will spare you all that essay. i also wanted to go more in depth on the source of his refusal to consume blood more regularly, but i couldnt really manage it...i couldnt do as much in this specific fic as i would have liked to, so maybe someday ill write the post-graduate rei metafic i keep saying ill write, and then everyone will be sorry.
> 
> theres nothing sexual in this fic (i dont think kissing counts lol) and the act of blood drinking is not erotic in the least, at least not to rei. the injury from it is described in somewhat graphic detail.
> 
> title from "better days" by radical face

As the last dregs of winter give way to spring, the skies become clearer and the sun burns hotter—and so it is that Rei finds himself in the school infirmary for the first time since winter had begun in earnest.  
  
The worst part, Rei thinks, isn’t even that he had fainted in the gardens. No, the worst part is that he had been near enough to the archery clubs morning practice that Tsukinaga and Keito—_Hasumi_, he keeps trying to tell himself—had seen him.  
  
Now, he stares miserably up at the infirmary ceiling, exhausted but unable to fall asleep for real. The cool compress Sagami had given him is growing somewhat warm against his forehead, so he’s been counting the ceiling tiles for at least an hour. He wishes he were in his club room with his coffin; even curtained off, the bed is too open for him to be comfortable enough to rest.  
  
Hunger makes his stomach clench in on itself, the pain distracting him and making him lose track of what tile number he was on. He closes his eyes and tries his best to ignore it.  
  
Sagami had given him a tomato juicebox when Tsukinaga and Hasumi had brought him in, but it had barely alleviated the hunger in him.  
  
It’s getting...bad. Rei grimaces, eyes still closed, knowing he’ll need to start making concessions soon—his family hadn’t noticed when he and Ritsu had visited during the New Year, but there’s no way they won’t if they see him like this.  
  
His first thought is Hasumi, of course. But he can’t. He won’t do that to himself—Hasumi would let him, had looked at him with the weight of an unspoken offer in his eyes that Rei had pretended not to see as Sagami laid him in the bed.  
  
It’s tempting. But Ritsu would be furious on his behalf and he knows he would hate himself for it.  
  
Kaoru, maybe. He hadn’t seemed to mind last year, had even offered a few times over the summer on days where Rei was particularly sick from the heat and hunger. But Kaoru is also weird about these things and Rei doesn’t want to go through the emotionally exhausting steps of reassuring him of his (dubious) heterosexuality still being valid regardless of him letting Rei bite him.  
  
Koga would gladly let him, but Rei really doesn’t want to give him the wrong idea, so he doesn’t pursue that line of thought.  
  
Tsukinaga, maybe—but no, he quells that thought, because he’s finally reconciled with Sena and Rei doesn’t want to step on toes. Kanata’s blood makes him sick, but Morisawa has offered before and Kanata wouldn’t mind, but it would still feel weird.  
  
Of course, there’s also—  
  
The sound of the infirmary door cuts off Rei’s thoughts and he opens his eyes slowly. Sagami had left, saying he would be back in an hour or so. That was barely twenty minutes ago, and knowing Sagami, he would be gone far longer. If it’s another student, he should help them, but that means getting out of the bed.  
  
_ Ah_, Rei thinks as the heavy steps grow closer. _ Speak of the Devil, and He shall appear_.  
  
As if summoned by his thoughts, Mikejima Madara tugs the curtain that sections off the bed from the rest of the infirmary gently. He looks both surprised and delighted to see Rei awake.  
  
“Rei-san! Did I wake you when I came in? I heard from Ritsu-san and Leo you were here, so I wanted to come check on you.”  
  
Oh, God. Tsukinaga had told Ritsu, so Rei knows he’s in for it later. He groans pitifully and lifts a hand over his eyes.  
  
“You didn’t wake me, Mikejima-kun, don’t worry. It’s kind of you to come all this way, but I’ll be fine.”  
  
Rei knows, even as he says this, that Mikejima isn’t going to believe him. He’s far too good at seeing through him.  
  
As expected, Mikejima looks both unimpressed and disbelieving, stepping into the closed off area and tugging the curtain shut again.  
  
“Rei-san, you shouldn’t push yourself so hard. When was the last time you ate?” He asks, turning to him with a seriousness he usually doesn’t show with Rei.  
  
Rei grimaces at the ceiling again.  
  
“I had breakfast,” he says even though he knows it’s not what Mikejima is asking. Mikejima tsks at him, sitting on the bed near his hip and making the mattress dip under his weight.  
  
“You know what I mean,” Mikejima says quietly.  
  
Rei swallows back a sigh. His jaw hurts, teeth aching with more than just the way he clenches them together. Mikejima is warm enough that his body heat seeps through the thin blanket and his clothes, warming his thigh, and forces himself not to think about how hot his blood would be.  
  
Mikejima is looking down at him, patient. Rei knows what he’s trying to do.  
  
“Rei-san,” he says. There’s no expectation in his voice. There never is, with Rei. “You can let me help you. I want to.”  
  
Rei’s throat closes in on itself. He knows.  
  
He knows Mikejima isn’t going to hurt him with this. Rei might be afraid of letting himself get too close after Hasumi and Wataru, but he knows that of all people, Mikejima wouldn’t do that. He’s never once tried to use Rei’s influence or his family. He’s never used him for anything—instead, he’s always tried to get Rei to use _ him_.  
  
But. Rei thinks, if he lets himself do this, whatever is between them will change. Part of him wants it to. Most of him is afraid of what it will mean.  
  
“I know,” he finally says aloud. It comes out weaker than Rei had expected and he wets his mouth, pushing the now-warm cooling compress off of his head and to the side of his pillow. Slowly, reluctantly, he begins to force himself to sit up and Mikejima immediately shifts to help him. He feels both useless and grateful for the strong grip of Mikejima’s warm hands on his forearms helping him up.  
  
He smells like sweat and the earth after rain. Rei almost groans with the pang of hunger that twists his stomach in on itself but just barely manages to refrain.  
  
Mikejima notices anyway. He always does. His gaze had already been warm, but it softens further as Rei sinks against the wall behind him.  
  
“Are you feeling better than earlier, at least?” He asks him, and Rei wishes he could say yes. If anything, he feels worse. Mikejima is someone he can’t lie or try half-truth’s on, though, so he resigns himself to honesty.  
  
“Not really,” he admits, bowing his head. The back of his neck itches where his hair has stuck to the skin with sweat; irritated, he pushes it back, wishing he had brought his hair ties.  
  
One of Mikejima’s hands lingers against his bare forearm, close to his elbow. His body heat sinks into Rei’s skin not unpleasantly and Rei is reminded again why being near Mikejima is such a dangerous thing despite how much he enjoys his company.  
  
“I haven’t offered since the first time,” Mikejima says quietly, and Rei winces, remembering with painful clarity the way Mikejima had frowned at him when Rei had refused to accept his blood during everything that had been happening after his return from overseas. “But I’m going to do so again. Please take some of my blood, Rei-san.”  
  
Rei sucks in a shaky breath, lifting his head. Mikejima is sincere, he knows, and his expression is one of focused concern.  
  
“I just,” Rei starts, and stops, trying to find the words. He’s usually far more eloquent than this. He doesn’t know how to explain his own complicated feelings—how much he cares for Mikejima and how much that scares him, despite him knowing Mikejima isn’t going to use that against him the way Keito had.  
  
He wouldn’t. Rei knows because Mikejima looks at him with a yearning that lacks the additional weight of everyone else’s expectations. More than that, Mikejima is the only one to look at him like that even after seeing him at his worst—not just as he is now, but as he had been in the immediate aftermath of Tenshouin’s conquest of Yumenosaki.  
  
Mikejima waits, patient as he always is with him. Rei doesn’t deserve it. He lets out a long, deep breath, lifting a hand to touch Mikejima’s wrist. Mikejima misunderstands, moving to pull his hand away from his arm, but Rei uses that movement to grab his hand properly instead. Mikejima inhales sharply, going still.  
  
Rei looks down at their hands. His a sickly pale, like paper. Mikejima’s, healthy and naturally tan from his frequent exposure to the sun.  
  
He thinks of all the people Mikejima’s probably hurt with these hands. The people he’s helped, too. Rei curls his fingers over Mikejima’s and says, “You’re far too kind to me, Madara.”  
  
At the sound of his name, Madara’s fingers return Rei’s soft grip. When he lets himself lift his gaze again, Madara is looking at him, wide eyed and red-faced in a way Rei hasn’t seen him since they first met.  
  
“Rei,” he says, sounding strangled. No suffix, for the first time Rei can remember. Rei gives a helpless smile.  
  
“I know you aren’t like Kei—like Hasumi-kun,” he corrects himself, hating that he has to, and swallows. “You aren’t...doing this to use my feelings against me. I know that. But if...you’re going to let me do this, then...it wouldn’t be fair for either of us if I didn’t tell you. You’ve waited long enough.”  
  
“I’m okay with waiting,” Madara says quietly, a hint of fearful disbelief to his voice.  
  
“I’m not,” Rei says, and finds he means it.  
  
Madara stares at him for a long moment, the redness clinging to his cheeks darkening in color. If Rei had it in him, he’s sure he’d be just as red, but what little blood he has flowing isn’t enough for that.  
  
“You can’t just say that, Rei,” he finally says, sounding at more of a loss than Rei has ever seen or heard from him.  
  
“Why not? I mean it. I care about you,” he says, and Madara’s grip on his hand seems to tighten. He lifts his other hand in an aborted motion, as though he hadn’t meant to do so, and pauses with a swallow.  
  
“Can I,” he tries to say, but can’t say it. Rei knows what he means, though, and his wobbly smile widens slightly.  
  
“I want you to,” he says, and Madara makes a noise in his throat as his fingers skim along Rei’s jaw, towards his ear, palm resting at his cheek.  
  
When he kisses him, it’s warm and softer than he had expected. It’s at once exactly and nothing like when Hasumi had kissed him, as if giving him that much were a sufficient apology for the way he had used him up until then, not realizing—or perhaps not caring—how much worse he had made Rei feel for it.  
  
But Madara isn’t Hasumi. Madara isn’t doing this with an ulterior motive; he’s kissing Rei because he likes him, because Rei likes him too, and Rei reaches his other hand to grab at Madara’s shoulder.  
  
He tastes like curry rice. Rei’s eyes burn, but he doesn’t let himself do something as embarrassing as cry over this.  
  
When Madara pulls back, he’s smiling. Rei is, too, and he’s about to say something when the hunger pain returns with a vengeance.  
  
Madara’s mouth drops into a frown immediately as Rei’s expression twists with discomfort.  
  
“We can talk after,” Madara says, and Rei wants to refuse—wants to kiss him again, wants to lay himself bare and admit everything he hasn’t allowed himself to say since the first time Madara had shown up at his home in the aftermath of it all.  
  
But he hurts. He hungers so strongly he feels as if he might be sick from it, his teeth aching, throat burning.  
  
It feels worse when Madara lets go of him to tug off the sweatband from his left wrist. Rei’s mouth waters with shameful hunger and he averts his gaze, not quite looking even when Madara touches his shoulder.  
  
“Rei,” Madara says. “I _ want _ to. You aren’t taking anything. I’m giving it.”  
  
He had said that over a year ago, too, when he had first found Rei collapsed in the halls of his own home after weeks of absence. _ It’s not taking, _ he had said when he rolled up his sleeves and made this same offer. _ I’m giving. _  
  
Rei had refused, then, turning away. Madara hadn’t pushed. Had saved him the indignity of crawling to his room by carrying him instead, which had brought him a different type of shame.  
  
He tries to swallow. Can’t, and still doesn’t let himself lift his gaze from the sterile white of the sheets under him.  
  
“It’s going to hurt,” he finally says. One last weak attempt to warn Madara off.  
  
“I know,” Madara says. “I don’t mind.”  
  
Rei sucks in a deep, trembling breath, lifting his gaze. Madara is watching, that soft look in his eyes, not a hint of impatience to him.  
  
Finally, he reaches out to take Madara’s arm; he grasps at his forearm in one hand and loosely takes his hand into his other one.  
  
“Are you sure?” He asks, one more time.  
  
“I’m _ very sure_,” Madara says, still smiling at him, and Rei grimaces and tentatively lifts Madara’s wrist to his mouth.  
  
He presses his lips to the pulse, first. He doesn’t let himself sink his teeth in as desperately as his body wants him to—he kisses the skin, closing his eyes, and feels the way Madara’s pulse jumps underneath his lips.  
  
He licks the skin. His aunt says it helps. He’s never been sure he believes her, given the reactions he’s gotten the few times he’s done this, but he drags his tongue regardless and Madara makes a choked noise in his throat that Rei doesn’t let himself acknowledge.  
  
“Clench your fist,” he mutters against the skin, and Madara obeys immediately, flexing his fingers and clenching his fist and making the veins stand out all the more prominently.  
  
Rei’s heart shakes in his chest. Guilt and hunger eat away at each other and at him, but he does it anyway—he sinks his teeth into Madara’s warm wrist, bittersweet warmth bursting into his mouth.  
  
He wants to cry. His eyes burn as he swallows; Madara’s only reaction is a quiet noise of discomfort as Rei accidentally clenches his jaw too hard.  
  
He tastes good. Healthy. Warm. A hand settles at the back of Rei’s head, stroking into his hair, and he realizes a disgraceful, muffled sob has escaped him as he drinks.  
  
How humiliating.  
  
He doesn’t need to stay this way for long. He takes more from Madara than he had from Kaoru last easter—takes more than he has since the day Keito, _ Hasumi_, had sweet-talked him in the student council’s office with his sleeves rolled up and his smile the perfect picture of awkward charm.  
  
He could take more, he knows. Madara is the epitome of physical health and fitness. But Rei only allows himself two, almost three, mouthfuls before he tightens his grip on Madara’s hand as he forces his jaw to relax.  
  
Gently Rei eases himself off of him, teeth sore not with desperate thirst but with satisfaction. He doesn’t let himself avert his eyes from the mess he’s made of Madara’s wrist; the punctures along the vein, the blood oozing out of circular wounds. The skin around them is red and angry, undoubtedly going to bruise, and he—  
  
“You better not be about to apologize,” Madara says. His hand is still in Rei’s hair, tangled in the thick mess of it, and Rei swallows back the _ I’m sorry _ that had been building in his throat.  
  
Madara’s taste lingers. He feels warmer than he has in so, so long.  
  
“It—it shouldn’t scar,” Rei says instead, voice wobbling. It shouldn’t. Hasumi’s hadn’t. Kaoru’s had healed just fine.  
  
“I wouldn’t care if it did,” Madara says. He reaches up his hand, uncaring about the blood spilling down his arm, tracking towards the white of his uniform. He touches Rei’s face, fingers on his jaw the way they had been earlier, and he’s smiling.  
  
Nobody else has smiled at him like that. Not when he’s like this, mouth red with someone else’s blood, eyes wet with guilty tears.  
  
“Did it help?” He asks. Rei nods, not trusting his voice, and Madara says, “Then that’s all that matters.”  
  
“But,” Rei starts, faltering, glancing down the length of Madara’s arm. Red has spilled onto his uniform shirt, as he had expected, and another stab of guilt runs through him. Madara doesn’t seem to care, though.  
  
“I’m okay,” Madara says quietly. “It barely hurt. You made it sound like the end of the world but I’ve felt worse getting blood drawn at the clinic.”  
  
Rei lifts his hand, grasping Madara’s forearm instead of his wrist to slowly lower his hand from his face.  
  
“Wait here,” he says. He feels better than he has in—longer than he wants to think about. When he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands, he can carry his own weight just fine; he feels no dizziness, no pain, only a mild irritation as he tugs back the curtain and the sunlight sinks into him.  
  
He’s familiar enough with how Sagami organizes the room with how often he ends up here. He finds the cotton swabs and rubbing alcohol easily enough, along with a roll of cotton bandages that he takes as well. Madara watches him with a fond expression in his periphery.  
  
“I can barely recall when I last saw you so energetic, Rei,” he says when Rei makes his way back to the bed, sitting on the edge with Madara this time.  
  
“I feel better than I have in a long time,” Rei admits, taking Madara’s arm again, wiping down the tracks of blood with one of the alcohol-dampened cotton swabs. “I...you’ll tell me not to apologize, so I won’t. Thank you.”  
  
Rei doesn’t think anything about his teeth will give Madara an infection. He wipes the injuries down with the alcohol anyway; Madara doesn’t even flinch, but given what he usually gets up to, he would be used to it.  
  
“You’re welcome,” Madara says, sounding delighted. “You can come to me again, you know. Whenever you need it. Don’t…” he hesitates for the first time, and Rei looks up from where he’d begun unfurling the cotton to wrap around his wrist.  
  
“Don’t let yourself get this bad again,” Madara says. “Please.”  
  
Rei looks back down. The faintest hint of red seeps through the white cotton he had already placed on Madara’s wrist, dying it pink.  
  
“I can’t keep asking this of you,” he says.  
  
“You aren’t. I’m offering it,” Madara reminds him, and says, “We can talk about it more later, if you want. We can figure it out. Just don’t...starve yourself like this again.”  
  
_ Please_, he doesn’t say again, but Rei hears it anyway as he cuts and ties the bandages.  
  
“I’ll...try,” he says. He can’t promise he won’t. “We can talk about—everything else later. Like you said. Sagami-kun should be back soon,” he adds.  
  
“Ah,” Madara breathes. “Sensei. Right. I saw him getting quite the scolding from Kunugi-sensei on the way here.”  
  
“Smoking in front of students again, I bet,” Rei says, and Madara hums in agreement as he flexes his fingers and turns his wrist to test the tightness of Rei’s bandage job.  
  
“I think,” Rei says then, “That I may even go to afternoon classes.”  
  
Madara’s expression is pleasantly surprised.  
  
“Really? You feel that well already? Kanata-san and...Wataru-san will be glad to see you,” he says. The noticeable pause before he can bring himself to say Wataru’s name without irritation makes Rei smile.  
  
“I’ll be glad to see Shinkai-kun as well,” he agrees, not mentioning the other. Madara’s expression becomes almost smug.  
  
“Leo is in class, too,” he adds. “For once. So he’ll be relieved to see you alright.”  
  
Ah. Right.  
  
“Poor Tsukinaga-kun, witnessing me in such a state,” Rei despairs to himself as he gathers up the used cotton swabs and what remains of the bandages, to be disposed of and put away respectively. “I’ll have to apologize for making him worry.”  
  
“Don’t be sorry for something like that,” Madara says when he stands. “You _ fainted_. It wasn’t your fault, so thank him instead.”  
  
_ It _ was _ my fault_, Rei doesn’t say, because he knows Madara will disagree. But he’s the one who starved and overworked himself into such a state, knowing the consequences.  
  
“Oh, very well,” he says instead, because he knows Tsukinaga will _ also _ scold him if he apologizes instead of thanking him. Disposing of the used swabs and putting the roll of bandages away, Rei turns to see Madara glancing down at his phone with a frown.  
  
“Kuro-san,” he explains when he looks up and sees Rei. “It seems the little miss has worked herself into a state again, trying to prepare for everyone's graduation. If I go check on her, will you be okay?”  
  
“Of course,” Rei says, choking down his disappointment as he steps closer to the bed. “I only intend to remain until Sagami-kun returns, anyway.”  
  
Madara reaches out; Rei lets him take his hand, lets him tug him down to sit by him once more.  
  
“The jazz café that opened downtown,” he says when Rei is sitting, shifting closer so that their thighs are pressed flush against each other. He doesn’t let go of Rei’s hand. “Have you gone yet?”  
  
He hasn’t. He had intended to when it opened months ago in October but there had been no time; on all of his free days he had instead found himself at home or in the club room, vegetating in his coffin.  
  
“Not yet,” he says, and Madara’s smile is stilted and hopeful.  
  
“The weather calls for rain this weekend, so it won’t be too sunny,” he says. “If...you want to go. With me.”  
  
A date, Rei thinks deliriously, and it—makes sense. People do that. Dates. They kissed not twenty minutes ago, and Rei had told him, and—of course.  
  
“I’d like that,” Rei says. Madara looks relieved, as if there had ever been a chance of Rei saying _ no_.  
  
“After class,” Rei keeps going, a little haltingly, “I have—UNDEAD has a room scheduled for use, but after that. If you’re still on campus, we can talk about…” his gaze drops down to their clasped hands, face warm. “This.”  
  
“I’ll come find you,” Madara agrees, squeezing his hand gently and pressing, somehow, closer still. “Can I…”  
  
Rei meets his gaze, this time, and knows what Madara is asking. He answers by leaning in and realizes too late—only when Madara is kissing him back—that he had not wiped his mouth free of the excess blood from earlier. Oh, God.  
  
Madara doesn’t seem to mind, at least. He kisses Rei and keeps kissing him until his phone hums violently between them, making him draw back with a look of disappointment that matches what Rei feels.  
  
“Go,” Rei says. “Make sure Anzu isn’t going to collapse again. If you need backup making her see reason…” he trails off, not sure where _ his _ phone is, or if he’s even charged it the past few weeks. “Well. Kiryu can get in touch.”  
  
“I’ll add asking Wataru-san for access to your string network to my list of things to do this week,” Madara says. He says _ asking _ in a way that means _ threaten_, and Rei selfishly looks forward to hearing about how that goes.  
  
Madara kisses Rei one last time before he goes, hand tightening its grip on Rei’s as if reluctant to leave, which—Rei feels, too. But he has to go, and so he does, and when he’s gone Rei collapses backward onto the bed and stares up at the ceiling.  
  
He feels warm. Alive in a way he hasn’t in far too long, Madara’s blood inside of him, making him feel healthy. He even feels like writing something new for the first time in quite a while—maybe he can finally make good on his promise to give Koga a new guitar solo, he thinks, the notes already falling into place in his mind.  
  
But.  
  
He has a date. With Madara. This weekend. He rolls onto his stomach, face buried in the sheets, and doesn’t let himself start screaming like a middle schooler.  
  
Sagami returns at last not too long after, finding Rei half-smothered and yet far more energetic than he had been when he left. He pointedly doesn’t comment on the dried blood smearing the side of Rei’s mouth and spares them both the humiliation of asking why Rei had been practically heaving into a pillow.  
  
Sagami is Rei’s favorite for a reason. The tomato juice he gets before he leaves only helps with that opinion.

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact i love coffee and my username is glueskin


End file.
